


my baby taught me how to die

by xofrnakxo



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Character Death, Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Mommy Kink, Nightmares, Pegging, Rehabilitation, Threesome - F/M/M, bev and ben look after him tho, its mainly bev/richie ngl, richie is very sad, yes eddie does die im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xofrnakxo/pseuds/xofrnakxo
Summary: Somewhere between the ages of 18 and 40, Richie Tozier had forgotten himself. From leaving his hometown for a college career that went desperately downhill to fame as a semi-relevant comedian, Richie had always felt as though pieces of his life had gone missing. There were vague memories, of course, but the bits that made Richie Richie, the important bits, were gone.written for bimmyshrug and richieblows Labor Day Book Quote Challenge. the quotes i have chosen are" Bev’s eyes, that fine clear shade of blue-grey, turned up to his. They were coolly amused. She pretended to primp her hair and asked him, “Oh dear, am I being asked out on a date?” "and" The energy you drew on so extravagantly when you were a kid, the energy you thought would never exhaust itself -- that slipped away somewhere between eighteen and twenty-four, to be replaced by something much duller, something as bogus as a coke high. "
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19
Collections: Labor Day Book Quote Challenge (2020)





	my baby taught me how to die

**Author's Note:**

> this took me way too long and i kinda hate it but i am also rly proud of it and its sad and raw and it rly helped me get through a tough time so if anyone says they hate it idc i have cried and sweated over this and i am posting it.
> 
> okay rant over, now i just want to say thank you to bimmyshrug and richieblows for including me in this challenge you're both great friends and ily you both so much
> 
> title is taken from the unreleased nirvana song 'alcohol'

Somewhere between the ages of 18 and 40, Richie Tozier had forgotten himself. From leaving his hometown for a college career that went desperately downhill to fame as a semi-relevant comedian, Richie had always felt as though pieces of his life had gone missing; he couldn’t remember childhood birthdays, who his best friend had been or who he had gone to prom with. There were vague memories, of course; where he went to school and what his favourite football team growing up was, but the bits that made Richie  _ Richie _ , the _ important  _ bits, were gone. During his college years Richie blamed the empty spaces where key memories had disappeared from on his mild addiction to alcohol and weed. 

But when the memories didn’t come back, Richie’s mild addiction turned into a serious one. He guessed it was some poetic kind of irony; the energy you drew on so extravagantly when you were a kid, the energy you thought would never exhaust itself -- that slipped away somewhere between eighteen and twenty-four, had to be replaced by something much duller, something as bogus as a coke high. And when you couldn’t even remember being a kid anymore? Shit started to stink and Richie would much rather clog up his sinuses with illegal substances than the putrid stench that was the giant turd life decided to throw at him. 

Of course, it all had to come to an end somehow. Somewhere between Boston and Detroit on his debut tour after leaving Saturday Night Live- if anyone asked, Richie had left the show because of creative differences and not because he could hardly make it to the show on time each night because he was too drunk to care- Richie had taken one too many xannies and woken up in the middle of the ICU in Detroit Medical Centre after his stomach had been pumped. It was a sticky business; the police wanted to get involved and arrest him for public indecency. The press were having a field day smearing Richie’s name all over their headlines.  _ TMZ gets off a good one _ , Richie thought soberly as Stephen Covall, his newly appointed and desperately overworked manager, paced his hospital room ranting angrily. Richie’s heart panged with a sense of deja vu that he couldn’t even match to a memory and he slid down into the bedsheets with a defeated sigh, wondering what the punishment for his crimes would be.

Turns out three months in rehab goes a lot faster than you would think. It helps when you’re bunking with a little twink who gets off on sucking B-list celebrities dicks. Sure, he had to sign a non-disclosure agreement- dropped off by an ever-glaring Steve- but what did Richie care? Substituting drug addiction for sex addiction worked somewhat of a treat and Richie was out in no time. After two pain-staking months of interviews- god, Richie had forgotten just how much he hated late night chat show hosts- justifying his actions to the general public with excuses such as depression and childhood trauma and any other deflection tactic to distract from the fact that Richie Tozier was just as human as your father that maybe has one too many beers in his armchair on a Friday night, Richie had started up his tour once again.  **_Getting Off The Good Stuff_ ** was the tour name, a play on Richie’s catchphrase. Critics were leaving glowing reviews, calling it an instant success. He was in talks with Netflix on creating his own comedy special. And if Richie wasn’t the one writing his jokes, nobody needed to know. It was all going exactly according to plan.

Until Mike Hanlon called.

Hurling up his breakfast outside the King’s Theatre, throwing his three month sobriety away for a shot of whisky and then shitting it on-stage in front of the audience whom he had already collected good tax-payer dollars from was never something that Richie had aimed to do and yet had happened. 

Because Mike Hanlon had called.  _ Homeschool _ , his mind had supplied unhelpfully as he leant over the barrier to spew his guts out. Derry. Home. Half-memories rushed back to him in pieces, the holes that Richie previously believed he could never fill suddenly being brought back to him. Not full memories, no. Richie knew there would only be one way to gain those memories back. 

And so, despite his still on-going tour and Steve’s protests and  _ his own  _ internal protests, Richie got on the next flight to Bangor, Maine, rented the hottest red convertible he could find and booked it to Derry where ol’ Homeschool had booked them in for Chinese food. 

And oh god, wasn’t that a blast from the past. Standing in front of him, five of his closest childhood friends- one missing, Richie noted. Because he could remember all their names and match them to all their faces now. They were all there, Mike and Bill standing together close as ever after all that time away from each other. Mike had grown into his strength, tall and handsome. Richie later thought that he wouldn’t be surprised if the reason Derry’s Public Library had gotten such a glow up was due to the fact that the entire town’s population of mothers were all signing up to the book club so they could get a good look at the hot librarian behind the counter. And Bill, shorter than Richie had expected, who looked tired with dark circles under his eyes and ruffled clothes, but still exuding that energy, that knowledge that he was once Big Bill and that he was soon to become Big Bill again. And then there was Haystack of course. Richie had hardly believed it when he had come face to face with him in the Jade of the Orient parking lot. They could’ve put Ben in one of those motivational TV advertisements for middle aged moms who were looking to lose weight. He’d gotten  _ hot _ . 

But there were really only two people that Richie couldn’t keep his eyes off of. 

Beverly Marsh. Richie remembered thinking when he was thirteen, laying in his bed and staring up at his ceiling as he tried to calm the newly found teenage hormones that were squirming inside of him, that he would never find a girl as beautiful as Miss Marsh again in his life. That thought was true, even twenty-seven years later when Richie saw her in the bright light of the Chinese restaurant. Memories of clumsily flirting with her in the street on a sunny summer afternoon, watching as Bev’s eyes, that fine clear shade of blue-grey, turned up to his. They had been coolly amused. She had pretended to primp her hair and asked him, “Oh dear, am I being asked out on a date?” Richie had fallen over his shoelaces to escort her to the theatre that afternoon and he was sure Ben had been just as happy as him that she had accepted his invitation. They were each other’s first date. Each other’s first everything, Richie soon came to remember too, flashbacks of prom night dancing in his head. Well, that answered the mystery question of who he had gone to the dance with. And here she was standing in front of him once again, the same blue eyes and auburn hair and a smile that could melt Richie where he stood. Richie instantly knew he loved her, felt it in his soul that somehow he had never forgotten that love he had held for her.

But there was nothing like his love for the sweet Eddie Kaspbrak that sat across from him at dinner that night. Sure, Richie had taken Bev on her first date, he had taken her to prom and he had taken her virginity afterwards. But Richie knew the moment he saw Eddie’s face again that the whole time he had been doing those things he had been using Bev as a placeholder for the person he truly wanted to be sharing candy with as he gawked at the teenage werewolf tearing his clothes as he transformed, who he wanted to be dancing on the dancefloor with to  _ It Must Have Been Love _ , who he wanted to be sinking into the heat of afterwards. Richie’s longing only got worse as the days went on, as his feelings came back harder and surer than ever as he argued and bickered with Eddie like they had always done, as Richie held Eddie’s cheeks between his hands and told him he was braver than he thought, when Richie had dragged Eddie away from the grasp of It’s clawed hands. 

When Eddie had died. 

Richie had paid for everything. Anonymously, of course. Eddie didn’t have a body so there could be no true funeral, but his wife was informed of Eddie’s disappearance and the search party needed cash. Richie had cash. He threw it at Myra through a burner bank account, telling himself he just wanted her to get the closure that she needed on her husband’s death. 

That was the worst part of it all. Richie couldn’t even tell himself the truth. He wasn’t spending all this money to help find a man that he already knew was dead to help his inconsolable wife. He was doing it to hide the fact that the burning guilt inside of him was eating him alive. Because Eddie’s death was all his fault, was it not? If Richie hadn’t opened his trashmouth, if he hadn’t pissed off the giant evil alien clown that ate children as a hobby, maybe Eddie wouldn’t have had to be brave. He wouldn’t have had to throw that spear at It, wouldn’t have climbed on top of Richie as he fell to the floor, wouldn’t have been speared through the heart like a fucking schisch kebab. But it was Richie’s fault because he  _ had _ done those things and the best thing he could think of doing was throwing his money at some cold case just so he could pretend for a while that Eddie wasn’t six feet underground in the stinking sewers of Derry. Eddie’s least favourite place in the whole world which had become his grave because Richie couldn’t even be brave enough to haul him over one shoulder and drag him out- damn what his other friends said. 

Back in LA, shit got worse. After such a success story with his sobriety, Richie was back on the booze. His memories weren’t fading like before, like he had selfishly hoped they would. He still remembered everything about that night. He had fucking nightmares about Eddie climbing on top of him in his bed at night, bloody and spewing black gore from his lips as he told Richie,  _ “I think I got him man! I think I killed It for real!”  _ that had Richie waking up in cold sweats, pissing himself from the fear. Alcohol was the only thing that drowned out the incessant reality that Eddie was dead and there was nothing that Richie could do about it except hope to join him after one too many sips of whiskey or one too many sleeping tablets. 

He was dropped from his agency. He fired Steve after he realised who he reminded Richie of. Short and angry, but so  _ sweet  _ with big brown eyes. All he could think of was Eddie Spaghetti. Writing jokes was impossible when the only thing Richie felt like doing was booking himself a one way flight back to Derry, climbing back down into those collapsed sewers with enough booze and drugs to put down a goddamn horse and fall asleep indefinitely next to the only man he’d ever truly loved.

In the end, it was Bev who saved him from doing just that. She’d seen it in the tabloids,  **_Richie Tozier taken to hospital for a drug overdose, more at 8_ ** . She and Ben had flown in from whatever exotic location they had been boating around immediately to visit their struggling friend in the hospital. Richie had taken one look at Bev’s face and burst into tears, so ashamed of what he had just tried to do. 

“Oh Richie honey,” she had whispered, hurrying to his bedside to wrap him up in her warm arms and Richie realised if there was one person other than Eddie that he wanted to be comforted by right there and then it was Bev. She was the only one there who truly knew what Richie had felt for Eddie Kaspbrak; he knew she hadn’t forgotten hushed conversations after hookups about their true loves that neither had the balls to admit their feelings to. Bev was just as blind to Ben’s simpering love for her that Richie was to the eyes Eddie gave him when he was nose deep in the latest edition of Spiderman, curled up together in the hammock of the clubhouse. Bev knew and so Richie was safe. 

Of course, Ben was there for him too, standing awkwardly by Richie’s bedside as his fiancé ran her perfectly manicured fingers through his hair and hushed him softly until he stopped crying and was restlessly sleeping in his hospital bed. When he awoke a few hours later, he was informed that after rehab he’d be going to stay with Bev and Ben, like he was some oversized child being adopted by two underprepared but otherwise loving guardians. 

And so Richie did his month, feeling more as though he was being sent to prison. He didn’t have a pretty little roommate who wanted to suck his dick this time. Richie didn’t think anyone would want to suck his dick ever again. Even after a haircut he looked like crap, with dark circles under his eyes and tendency to be prone to nosebleeds. His nightmares continued, so much so they were turning to terrors. The nurses had to medicate him so heavily he was making jokes about them trying to finish the job for him, which was apparently looked down upon in mental health reestablishments. He’d never been through such a painful withdrawal, sweating like a pig as he rocked back and forth on the bathroom floor in front of his toilet just waiting for the next load of bile to come up his throat. 

But he did it. After a month of painful meetings with a therapist and saying, “Hi, my name is Richie Tozier and I’m a drug addict,” one too many times, Richie finally left rehab with his shiny red  **30 Days Sober** pin tacked to the lapel of his jacket. He stepped through the doors to, once again, see Bev and Ben standing in front of him like his parents waiting to pick him up from Summer Sleep Away Camp. It was embarrassing and made him feel so  _ guilty _ , but Richie had never felt more relieved to fall into the arms of two of his best friends before. 

They carted him off to their big house in the middle of nowhere. Apparently Ben had a lot of homes all over the United States, the pros of being an extremely rich architect and all, and Bev had deemed this one the best for Richie’s recovery. Richie had to admit that the scenery was beautiful; rolling hills and a lake out the back. He’d even seen sheep, which he hadn’t seen since he was 17 and drunk and almost succeeding in climbing into a field holding a herd of Mike’s best ewe before he was grabbed around the waist by said farmer and hoisted away. Mike had always been so strong. 

He even had his own room, overlooking the lake and the surrounding fields. 

“I feel like fucking Annie,” he told Bev as she bustled around his room finishing last minute details for him. 

“Does that make me daddy Warbucks?” Bev had smirked at him and Richie had cracked his first real smile in a long time. 

Staying with Bev and Ben wasn’t so bad, really. They were both around a lot; Ben worked from home in his large office, holding meetings over Zoom in his underwear and button up shirts, and Bev had her own office too where she worked on dress designs for celebrities that had much more fame than Richie. By all means, Richie felt like a glorified maid, trying to make himself busy by cleaning and making meals. If there was one thing Richie was good at it was cooking. When your mother was Italian and your father was French you didn’t have much choice in practically being a sous chef by the time you turned eighteen. It was easy to forget when he was busy why he was there in the first place. 

At night, however, it was an entirely different story. Richie would complete his nightly routine. He’d recently gotten into showering when he had seen the large shower head that was installed in the huge walk in shower, and so his nightly routine went as so; wash, jerk off, brush teeth and climb into the oversized bed that made him feel even lonelier than he already did. And soon loneliness would turn into sadness, would turn into crying himself to sleep, would turn to waking up, once again, to the image of Eddie covered in blood and slime crawling all over him and telling him that he had defeated It. 

Eventually Richie’s nightmares ended up waking Bev and Ben. It was only a matter of time before Richie’s screams of terror could be heard from down the hall. And each time, Bev would come running, no matter how many times it happened. She would always be there to comfort him through his nightmares, climbing in next to him and wrapping him up in her arms, soothing him with her sweet voice and words. Richie always guiltily gazed over at Ben at breakfast, feeling shameful for stealing his wife away from their bed to come climb into Richie’s with him instead, but he never once brought it up. In fact, it didn’t seem to bother him at all, asking Richie if his nightmares were getting any better and if there was anything that he could do for him. If Richie didn’t know any better, he’d think Bev and Ben were struggling romantically, that maybe the fire that they had sparked after defeating Pennywise was finally starting to fizzle out. 

But Richie  _ did _ know better. He’d seen their love with his own two eyes. One too many times he had walked in on Bev and Ben in compromising positions in plain sight. Making out on the couch while he was passing through to grab a snack, going to ask Ben a question only to find Bev sitting on his desk with her husband’s hand up her skirt, going to the kitchen to make dinner only to find Ben pressed up against the refrigerator as Bev was falling to her knees. Richie had to believe that he just had really bad timing or he would’ve been certain that they  _ wanted _ him to catch them. 

But that couldn’t be the case. Richie and Bev’s thing was over. It had died long ago after their last time sleeping together before they went their separate ways to college. Richie remembered their last time; it was in his truck out by the kissing bridge, late when there was no one around. Bev had ridden him and they had kissed for the final time as he finished inside of her, both of them clutching at the other as they panted for breath. Then they got out of the car and they sat on the hood and they both agreed that it stopped there and then. Bev loved Ben and Richie loved Eddie and even if those feelings were never reciprocated (at least not knowingly) it wasn't healthy for either of them to use each other just so they could pretend they were fucking someone else. 

Yet Bev had gotten her love. She had won the one game that Richie could never even hope to beat even after putting in all those hours at the arcade. 

So why did Richie feel as though he was being invited into something?

He’d gotten his answer a late night in November. He’d woken up from yet another nightmare, screaming himself awake once again. It had been so real he almost felt as though he could reach out and touch Eddie’s sullen face and his ruined clothes and his blood-stained skin. But when Richie’s fingers had brushed Eddie’s t-shirt that had turned brown with decay, all he had felt was a sick sense of revulsion forming in his stomach and he had shot up in bed screaming before leaning over the side of the bed to hurl the contents of his dinner onto Ben’s very expensive Persian rug. Tonight was strange, both in the sense that Richie had finally actually managed to touch Eddie in his dream as well as the fact that Bev hadn’t immediately come running after Richie had woken up. 

Maybe his vomiting had dampened the volume of his yell. 

All the same, Richie was an adult and he didn’t need Bev to come look after him after he had had a nightmare. He could look after himself. So he stood up and dragged himself to his en suite to brush his teeth and wash his face, before grabbing a towel to clean up his vomit on the rug in the bedroom. He wiped it as best as he could, but it was inevitable that that stain would never come out and he threw the ruined towel into his clothes hamper before climbing back into bed and staring up at the ceiling with warm tears still falling down his cheeks.

_ Not good enough Richie _ , his brain unhelpfully supplied as he lay on his back.  _ You ruin everything don’t you? You ruined the carpet, you ruined Bev and Ben’s holiday, you ruined Eddie’s life by opening your stupid big mouth. None of this would’ve happened if you just killed yourself right the first time.  _

“Beep beep asshole,” Richie murmured to no one but himself as he clambered out of bed to drag himself down the hall. Despite the fact he had told himself that he didn’t need Bev to guide him through every little nightmare he had, he knew deep down he had only been lying to himself. Sure, waking his friends up to tell them he had puked all over their carpet like a five year old might put him in their bad books the next morning but it was better than driving himself to the closest liquor store and buying their finest whiskey and a six pack. 

Richie’s timing had never been his best quality. 

He had walked into his host’s bedroom expecting to see Bev and Ben maybe watching TV on the great big flat screen on the wall across from their plush bed or maybe curled up next to each other while Bev read to Ben from Bill’s latest novel. Mostly, Richie had expected them to be fast asleep, wrapped around each other in a way that made Richie’s heart pine for someone to do that with himself. 

Anything but opening the bedroom door to see Ben laying on his back, spread open as Bev rolled her hips into him,  _ fucking  _ him. Richie’s eyes widened as he looked at the scene before him, Ben with his head thrown back, clenching the sheets between his fingers as he whined through gritted teeth. Bev was fucking into him with slow and deliberate thrusts that made Richie’s own dick twitch confusedly in his sweats. Come on brain, make a decision, was he horny or sad? All he got was a decided, “both,” but Richie couldn’t bring himself to be angry about it as he watched Ben’s breathing get heavier, his moans get louder. Ben’s fingers ran down his body to grip his cock, stroking himself off as Bev began to move her hips faster and harder, sensing her fiancé’s imminent release.

“That’s it baby, come for mommy..” Richie could hear her murmuring to Ben and it was only a few moments later that the man had come all over his stomach and chest, Bev’s name pulled from his lips as though it were a holy prayer. 

Richie had done a lot of fucked up stuff; he had stolen, cheated on partners, manipulated people to make them do what he wanted. But he had never felt so dirty as he felt in that moment watching Beverly peg her boyfriend without getting consent from her first. He almost felt as though he was going to vomit again at the feeling of how hard his own cock was in his pants at watching these two insanely beautiful humans go at it like jackrabbits in heat. Richie turned on his heel, ready to exit the room and retreat to his bedroom to guiltily jerk off under the sheets and just pray that they hadn’t seen or heard Richie booking it back down the hallway. 

Of course, Richie never seemed to get what he wanted.

“Rich?” Beverly’s voice called out to the hallway, telling Richie she had figured out he was there. Richie stood still, hoping that his lack of movement would make Bev think her eyes were playing tricks on her. “Richie, honey, I can see you standing out there in the hallway.”

Richie sighed and turned back, poking his head around the door. Ben was still laying there, curled up on the bed, chest rising and falling in slow pants as he gazed at Richie with heavy-lidded eyes, obviously satiated. Once again, Richie’s cock stirred in his pants and his eyes turned over to Bev, the harness around her hips one made from a sturdy material. It wasn’t cheap by any means, telling Richie that this was something that Bev and Ben did often, often enough that they were willing to spend good money on it. But the harness wasn’t the part that Richie was gazing at. The cock she had connected to it was  _ huge _ . Richie wasn’t insecure by any means; his material contained maybe one too many jokes that pertained to the size of his cock and none of them were based on lies, but  _ Jesus Christ _ , how was Bev even moving around with that thing attached to her hips. Richie almost wanted to make a joke about the sheer absurdity of it all, but his mouth felt too dry and his cock was too hard.

“Why don’t you come tell mommy what’s the matter?” Bev coaxed and Richie walked over to the bed, gently sitting down on the edge a little away from Bev. She clucked her tongue softly and lifted her arm up and Richie found himself shifting over towards her on the bed and settling under her arm as it wrapped around his shoulders. “What happened honey? Did you have another nightmare?” Pathetic as Richie felt, walking in on his friends fucking because he had had a bad dream, he couldn’t stop the tears coming to his eyes once again.

“Yeah,” he finally broke, resting his head in his hands as the tears started to fall down his cheeks, full bodied sobs coming from him. “Yeah, I-I did..” he managed to hiccup as he felt Ben’s arms wrap around his shoulders from the other side. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you-”

“Shush..” Bev hushed him, pressing her lips to the side of Richie’s head. Ben’s strong fingers rubbed up and down his arm in a soothing motion. “It’s okay, we don’t mind, we invited you here, that's what we’re here for.. Cry it out..” 

And so Richie did. Mountainous sobs left him as he shook on the bed, leaving his face and hands messy with his tears. He leant into Bev’s touch, craving the affection from the only other person on the planet he felt had a clue what he was going through. And all the while, his friends were there for him, comforting him through his cries until they finally disapperated, slowly coming to a steady stop until all he could do was sit and stare at the floor in the middle of the room. 

“Feel better?” Bev asked softly. Richie nodded his head, feeling Ben stand up and walk to the other side of the room before shortly returning with a few tissues for Richie to wipe up his face. He took them, pathetically pawing at his face with the tissue until Bev took over, wiping away his tears for him. “You gonna tell mommy what happened?” Richie shook his head. It was uncharacteristic for him to be so non-verbal, but when his brain was running at this pace, leaving him with so many thoughts blurring into one that all that was in his brain was white noise, it was hard for him to even speak. 

Bev looked between Richie and her fiance for a couple of moments, seeking help from Ben. He nodded his head, pushing his way back up the bed so that he was resting against the bed frame, legs and arms spread. In the meantime, Bev coaxed Richie up onto the bed with soothing words. 

“C’mon Richie, come settle against Ben, just like that, good boy..” she soothed him as she made him settle in the strong arms of her fiancé. They wrapped around him, holding him close and tight when his back pressed against Ben’s chest. Richie hadn’t been held by a well built man in so long. He usually went for twinks, guys that he now realised reminded him of Eddie. But he’d never forget the first time he’d seen that magazine, filled with pictures of men in tight gym wear, strong men- men like Ben- which had made his stomach feel strange. His stomach had that same twisty feeling right now as he let Ben’s arms squeeze around him, only this time it was connected to his dick which twitched in his sweats.

“Comfortable?” Ben asked as Richie shifted against him and he nodded once again, leaning into Bev’s palm when he felt it come to rest against his cheek, her thumb brushing against his cheek bone. “Good… We only want what's good for you Richie..” All that elicited from his friend was a soft sniffle. 

“We just wanna look after you Richie..” Bev said softly, her fingers trailing over Richie’s neck and down his bare chest. Richie shivered, his eyes opening to look at her. His eyes drifted down once again, past her perfect breasts and to the plastic cock hanging between her legs. He shifted on the bed. “Will you let mommy take care of you, Richie?” Richie felt his head moving in a nod before he had even registered it, watching as Bev leant closer until her mouth was almost brushing his. “I gotta hear you say it, honey.”

“Yes Bev,” Richie finally managed to breathe, the words passing his lips as if pulled from him of no accord of his own. “I want you to look after me..” 

That was all it took before Bev’s lips were pressed to his own, kissing him softly. Her technique had surely improved over the years since they had last done this and Richie found himself leaning up into her, reaching up to cup her cheeks with his own hands as he parted his lips to let her tongue brush against his own. Her soft fingers hooked into the waistband of Richie’s sweatpants, tugging gently and Richie arched his hips up to let her pull them down his legs, watching her pull away to get him naked. 

“Hold him open for me, Ben baby?” Bev asked her fiancé and Richie felt large fingers wrap around the undersides of his thighs, pulling his legs up over Ben’s so that he was spread out for the both of them. He’d never felt so vulnerable, so _open_ , and he felt like he was about to choke up again, sobs in his throat waiting to come out. But Bev’s hands were back on him, one palm stroking up and down the inside of his thigh, while Ben’s lips were pressed against the side of his neck, giving him enough physical attention so as not to be overwhelming but still grounding him. With a deep sigh, Richie’s tears were stopped once again for the time being. 

He could hear the sound of a cap being opened and the tell-tale squelch of lube being poured into someone's palm. Looking at Bev, Richie could tell she was coating her fingers in the liquid. “Just getting it warm for you, honey..” she told him, scootching forward until she was resting between Richie’s spread thighs once again on her knees. Richie shook a little as he felt her hand finally touch in between his legs, spreading lube around his entrance. “Is this okay?” she asked softly. 

“Yeah,” Richie whispered and he gasped as Beverly finally pressed a finger inside of him, arching up against Ben as he took in the sensation. He hadn’t been fucked in so long. The last time this had happened, Richie had been so strung out and desperate for another snort of coke that he’d let his dealer take advantage of him. Right now though, Richie was devastatingly sober and he knew exactly what was going on. He could feel every knuckle of Bev’s finger as she meticulously stretched him, asking permission before adding a second finger, then a third. Most importantly, Richie knew he was safe here.

He even began to moan as Bev stretched out her fingers, curling them upwards towards a spot that had Richie swearing out in pleasure. “F-Fuck,” he gasped, one of his own hands reaching out to grab onto Ben’s arm whilst the other gripped the side of Bev’s neck, trying to ground himself as the pleasure ran through him in waves. 

“Is that good?” Bev cooed at him softly as she continued to rub her fingers against that spot and Richie nodded his head. He still had white noise in his brain, but it was no longer the cause of his thoughts running wild, making him overthink to the point where he could hardly breathe. The result of this was so much pleasure coursing through his body he thought that he might scream. Bev hummed softly and crooked her fingers upwards one last time before gently pulling them out of Richie’s hole. It was almost as though his body had been on a live wire where electric impulses were controlled by the press of Bev’s deft fingers against his sweet spot and he relaxed against Ben, his chest the one rising and falling in deep pants now. 

“She’s good with her fingers, huh?” Ben murmured in his ear and all Richie was able to respond with was a soft, 

“Uh huh..”

It was only a few moments later that he felt Bev pressing something against his hole again. This time it wasn’t the warm comfort of her fingers but the blunt press of her cock. Richie let out a soft whine as he felt it pressing against him and she soothed him again, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair which had gotten long once more from a lack of self-care. She gently tugged on the ends to get his foggy attention again, before leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. 

“You ready?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” Richie replied.

It was a tight fit, of course. Ben was apparently a size queen and Richie hadn’t done this in a  _ long  _ time, so it took a moment for the head of Bev’s cock to slip inside. Richie moaned out as it finally pressed in, stretching him far wider than Bev’s long but slender fingers could’ve ever hoped to. His lips parted in a soft ‘o’ and his back arched upwards as Bev continued to sink into him. Ben whispered reassuring words in his ears as he took the whole length, telling him what a good job he was doing, that it would feel so good in a few moments, but all Richie’s overwhelmed brain could take in was the low timbre of his voice. 

It was only when Bev was finally bottomed out inside of him that Richie had realised he hadn’t even been breathing, finally allowing himself to take a deep breath into his lungs. But his new found oxygen also gave him the ability to once again make noise and if he wasn’t so engulfed by the feeling of Bev’s cock inside of him he would have possibly been embarrassed at the high pitch of the moan that left him. Richie felt Beverly once again combing her fingers through his hair and Richie leant into the touch, looking up at her with sad blue eyes. 

“Gonna move now, Richie,” she murmured to him after a few moments of them just staring at each other knowingly and that was all the warning that Richie got as his friend began to thrust her hips into him, slow and deep and  _ perfect _ . Richie cried out each time Bev pressed in, taking him apart push by push until he was once again a relaxed squirming mess being held down only by Ben’s hands. 

Richie’s head fell back against Ben’s shoulder and his eyes closed as he let himself finally fall into the pleasure. Bev hadn’t even brushed against that spot inside of him that had practically driven him insane earlier and Richie already felt as though his brain was turned to a mushy pile of warm, lush pleasure. He almost felt drunk on it, chasing a high that was slowly building inside of his stomach. 

He could’ve come like that, with no helping hand necessary, but he felt as though he was moving in slow motion unable to tell Ben not to bother when the man’s hand disconnected from his right thigh and instead reached down to grasp the base of Richie’s cock and begin stroking him at the same pace as the slow thrusts of Bev’s hips. He could practically hear himself begging out, “Oh god,” but it was lost as the angle that Bev was fucking him changed and the head of her cock was brushing against his sweet spot, sending him spiralling towards the edge.

It was as he approached his orgasm, harder and faster than he had ever reached release before, his whole body shaking in between the bodies of his closest friends, that the image of Eddie Kaspbrak came to his head once again. Pictures of the man he loved with all his heart flashed through his head, visualisations of Eddie smiling and laughing over dinner, his smile wide and bright enough to make any poor soul sing, the feeling of him gripping on so tight to Richie when he was afraid as if begging Richie with his body language to protect him, the sound of his voice, so fast and quick that it would drive any man crazy. But not Richie, no. Richie would do anything to have Eddie with him again, ranting to him, calling him an asshole, an idiot, telling him to shut up. 

Telling him to shut up as  _ he  _ thrust into Richie, using his body as he chased his own release.  _ Eddie’s _ hands gripping onto Richie’s thighs so that he was spread out for him to fuck into,  _ Eddie’s  _ fist wrapped around Richie’s cock as he jerked him off, pushing Richie towards the edge. Richie was so suddenly aware of who he wanted to be in him at that moment. As he fell over the edge, his whole body shaking with the impact of his pleasure, Richie couldn’t help the cry of his true love’s name falling over his lips, spilling over both his and Bev’s chests and Ben’s fist. Tears once again began to fall down his cheeks as he sobbed in the strangest combination of sadness and euphoria. 

Beverly stopped moving after a few moments, slowing her movements to a halt. She cupped Richie’s cheeks again gently, both of her hands holding him as he cried. Ben nuzzled his nose into Richie’s hair and stroked his clean hand up and down Richie’s side as he let out his tears for the third time that night. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Richie apologised, shaking his head. He’d never felt so stupid and vulnerable. “I-I didn’t mean to say h-his name..” 

Bev slowly pulled out of Richie. He let out a soft moan as she left him, feeling empty as her cock left his body. He heard the  _ clink  _ of the metal and leather hitting the floor and felt his body slowly being manhandled to where he was on his side, Ben wrapped around his back spooning him. Bev finally climbed back onto the bed, laying down facing him and wrapping him up that way. It was reminiscent of the aftermath of It, his friends curled around him as he cried, surrounded by so much love and yet feeling so alone. 

“You don’t need to apologise, Richie..” Bev murmured softly, placing a soft kiss to the centre of his wrinkled brow. 

“Never to us..” Ben added, squeezing his middle extra tight for a moment. 

“I just miss him..” Richie told them, his tears waning off at that point until he was simply letting out dry sobs and hiccups every so often. “I never got to tell him… Never… You know..”

“We know..” Bev told him softly, pulling him close so that his head was resting on her chest, her breasts comfortable enough for him to use as a pillow. He sighed out softly, curling close and feeling her manicured fingers run through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp as he drifted off. “Sleep now.. We’re here, you can sleep..”

So Richie did. 

And when Richie awoke between the arms of Beverly and Ben, it wasn’t with a start or a yell or a cry, but with the knowledge that only came in the earliest hours of daybreak when the birds were tweeting their good morning song, that he was loved and that he would love again. 

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is
> 
> @creamykaspbrak  
> creamykaspbrak.tumblr.com
> 
> if you would like to leave me sum love <3


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